Read Razor's Edge (Afflictions) for Free Online Page B

and hands it to me.
    I hit it then pass it to Lina.
    "What if this guy Tryst and Emily show up at the same time?" Bryan has a delayed cough and when the blunt comes back to him, he shakes his head.
    Toking the blunt, I shrug. "Don’t know. Guess we’ll—"
    A big truck pulls up into my driveway. It sounds fucking badass. At least the guy is punctual. That’s a good sign. Now, if his talent is as great as his ability to get shit done, we’re golden. No, platinum. I smile, and I hit the garage door opener.
    His truck’s got a six-inch lift with Micky Thompson bogger tires.
    "I wonder what he’s got under that hood." Bryan stares at it like a kid trying to hold in the question, “Daddy, can I ride the four-wheeler?” But that’s Bryan. Other than music, he’s a complete gear-head. "I bet it’s a 460 big block."
    I butt the blunt. "Nah, it’s a 351 Windsor." Bryan might know cars, but I know my trucks. "Care to bet on it?"
    "If it’s a 460, you have to quit smoking pot for a week." Bryan grins.
    That would kill me. It seriously would. Okay, maybe not literally, but my nerves would go into overdrive and I’d have a heart attack. But I know I’m right. "And if it’s a 351, you have to pay for the door you busted last night."
    "Deal." Bryan shakes my hand and we both turn our heads when we hear the truck door slam.
    Tryst comes around the front of the car and— holy shit! It’s the dude from last night—the amateur pot smoker and the sex angel’s friend. What the hell is he doing here? Okay, I know the answer to that. But...he plays the guitar?
    His shaved head shines in the sun and as soon as he looks at me, he scowls at my butted blunt. Yeah, not sure how this shit is going to play out. If he goes all DARE on me, this ain’t gonna work. Period. He hit my shit last night. I’ll pick up my damn guitar. Or Emily can find us a new player.
    Bryan lets out a whistle and he circles the truck, staring at it like he’s about to jack Tryst’s ride. “That’s one badass monster. What’s under the hood?”
    Tryst pulls a guitar case out of the truck’s bed. “460 big block.”
    Fuck!
    Bryan’s obnoxious laughter starts a fire in my gut. Give up pot for a week? He can’t be serious—we’ve got a gig on Friday.
    “Hand it over, dude.” Bryan holds out his hand. “Your stash. I’ll take care of it.”
    “You mean smoke it.”
    He glares at me. “The pot, Morg. Now.”
    I look to Lina for help. It was just a silly bet.
    She shrugs. “You did promise. A bet’s a bet. And you lost.”
    Damn. What the hell am I gonna do? I’ve always been a man of my word. Not going to stop now. Reluctantly, I fish my stash out of my pocket. My heart beats so fast I swear it’s going to short out. My hand shakes a little as I pass it over to Bryan.
    He pats my shoulder. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
    He has no freaking idea.
     
    #####
     
    Tryst sets up his guitar and I fill him in on what happened to the last member. He doesn’t eye-fuck Lina, so that’s a damned good sign. But his attitude toward my drug use, the mean-mugging he gave me, the “just say no” needs to go. The dude hit my shit last night and hypocrites have no place in my circle of smoke.
    The clock on the wall suggests that Emily Rhines will be here in less than half an hour. Not enough time for us to hear him and make a decision. If there is a God, Emily will get a flat tire or some shit like that.
    Picking up the music sheet, I hand it to Tryst. It was the third song we played last night, the one that Emily heard, and the one where Rictor had a hard time with skipping notes.
    He takes it, studies it for a minute, and hands it back to me. "Don’t need that shit. I’ve heard you guys play that song before."
    Nerves play basketball in my system. If this guy messes up the song and Emily walks in, she’ll probably walk right back out. If I make him keep the sheet, then it’s gonna look like he has a hard time memorizing the music. Only strumming home